


TF2 Drabbles

by simpleEnthusiast



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Concentration camp references, Cuddling, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Multi, World War II references, mvm, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpleEnthusiast/pseuds/simpleEnthusiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.  Tags, characters, and pairings will be updated as I post</p><p>EDIT JUNE 23: Gonna go ahead and mark this as complete seeing as I've fallen into Fallout 4 hell and cant seem to find my way out.  I may update again at a later date but don't get your hopes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cuddle

**Author's Note:**

> Word of the Day August 1, 2015: Cuddle (v): to hold in an affectionate manner; to hold tenderly.

"HOLY SHIT! WAKE UP GUYS, IT'S FURLOUGH!"

" _Mon Dieu_. SCOUT, GO BACK TO SLEEP!" Spy growled, turning to bury his face in the Sniper's neck.  "We should have stayed in your van."

Sniper chuckled.  "This was your call, mate; not mine."

"Have you ever heard of the term 'hindsight'?" Spy mumbled into the Sniper's skin.

"Come on, Raoul.  We'd better get movin' before the others get all the coffee and decent food.  I'm sure everyone heard the little brat shouting."

Spy grunted and clutched the younger man tighter.  " _Non. Rester_."  He nuzzled Sniper's neck, but the younger man was already sitting up.  " _Merde_. Fine."  
Spy begrudgingly and slowly sat up at half the speed of the Australian next to him.  By the time Spy was upright, the Sniper already had his boxers on and was searching for his pants.  Spy watched his lover, admiring the way the muscles rippled across back.  The Frenchman stood and crept up behind the marksman, not bothering with putting on any clothes.  He wrapped his arms around the taller man's middle, pressing an unmasked cheek against the smooth expanse of skin that was his back.  "I cannot convince you to remain?"

The Sniper smiled and turned in the Spy's embrace, wrapping his own arms around him.  "If we don't show, Scout and Soldier won't leave us alone."

"Just a few more minutes.  I want to hold you."

Sniper looked down at Spy and tilted his chin up, leaning down for a kiss.  He chuckled inwardly as the Spy melted in his arms.  "Come on." He said, breaking the kiss and leading the two of them back to the bed.  "A few more minutes won't hurt."

Spy allowed a smile to light his face. " _Merci, mon cher_." He mumbled, climbing back under the covers next to the Australian.  
Sniper lay on his back, slightly propped up on the pillows, his left arm open, giving Spy room to cuddle up next to him.  The Frenchman rested his head on the Sniper's chest, throwing an arm over his stomach and entwining their legs.  After settilng for a moment, he sighed happily, murmuring something in French that the Sniper couldn't quite make out.

Sniper looked down at the older man, bringing his hand up to play with the hair at the base of Spy's head.  He'd never pegged Spy as a cuddler. When they'd first gotten together, he'd expected little more than a quick shag and then finding himself alone the next morning.  But he'd woken to the Spy practically vacuum sealed to his side.  Not that he minded.  It didn't bother him in the slightest.  In fact, he felt a bit honored that the Spy felt comfortable enough with him to reveal this part of his personality.  It didn't exactly go with the 'mysterious lady-killer' façade.

"Lawrence?"  The Spy's soft voice pulled the Sniper from his thoughts.  
"Hm?"

"Must we leave this morning?"

"Eventually. Unless you want Soldier on our asses all day."

"Ugh."

"But it is furlough…and I may have gotten you something for your birthday that we had to miss last week."

"Y-you got me something?  For my--"

"Yup." The Sniper smiled. "But it's hidden in the rec room. Which means we have to get up."

" _Oui_." The Spy lifted his head, meeting Sniper's gaze before heaving a sigh. "Well, I suppose this was enough.  Let's go."  He disentangled himself from the Sniper, sitting up and attempting to locate his underwear.  They dressed in companionable silence, not needing to speak.  Once they were both fully dressed and ready for the day, Spy rested his hand on the doorknob, still not quite wanting to leave the safety of his quarters. 

The Sniper walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around the Spy's torso in a reversal of their earlier positions. " _Joyeux anniversaire.  Je t'aime_." Sniper mumbled, his French horribly accented and he stumbled over a few syllables.

Spy shook his head, smirking.  "I love you too.  Now, let's go."


	2. Accouterments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accouterments: personal clothing, accessories, etc.

"Bloody fuckin' piss!  Get off a' me ya bloody piece a'--"

The Soldier halted outside of the Demoman's quarters, listening to the Scot swear and thump around.  "Tavish? What is happening?"

"Uh---shit. Don't come in here!" 

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Jane; just leave me be!"

"You are not fine. I am coming in!"

"No!"

The Soldier slammed open the door and once again stopped in his tracks.  The Demoman was standing in the middle of his room with his black vest hiked up over his head, with his hands sticking out of the top where his head would normally be.  "Tavish?"

"Look, mate: Just go. Please?  I-- I can handle this myself."

"What happened?"

The Demoman sighed.  "Its…well, see I wanted ta see if I could get the vest off without havin' ta undo the straps an' all that. 'Cause y'know how I can just slip it on.  Well, I got it about half way off when I figured out I couldn't keep my hands on it an' well: now I'm stuck."

The Soldier blinked, once, twice, three times, before he doubled over, letting out a guffaw at his friend's predicament.

"Oh come on, mate: it's not funny."

"Yes it is."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not…Look, I'm not playin' this game with ya, Jane."  The Demoman started tapping his foot impatiently, which only made the Soldier laugh harder. 

"I need a camera."

"DON'T YOU FUCKIN' DARE, JANE!" The Demoman shifted again in a futile effort to dislodge his vest. "Or I swear I'll have the Spy gut ya like those damn chickens he's always goin' on about!"

The Soldier giggled at the little dance his friend was doing in his efforts to dislodge his vest.  "Oh, quit your laughin' an' get over 'ere and bloody help me!"

The Soldier allowed himself one last chuckle before moving to help his unfortunate friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was a bit funny when I wrote it. Please do tell if it made you laugh!


	3. Twitterpated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of my headcanons for the TF2 characters shine through in these drabbles, but I try to work in details that exist in canon as well. So until Valve releases the names of all the currently unnamed characters, I use made up names, most notably : Erik Hoffmann as Medic, Lawrence Mundy as Sniper, and Raoul Moreau as Spy. I don't have any distinctions between RED and BLU at this time. All drabbles, unless otherwise stated, revolve around the RED team.
> 
> Twitterpated - excited or overcome by romantic feelings; smitten

"ARCHIMEDES!! NO!"  Medic stood and shooed the errant dove from the blood samples on his desk.  "I'm vorking vizh zhese!"  
The dove perched on the lamp and cocked his head, as if to say _You aren't working and you know it_.

"Don't look at me like zhat."  The German said and looked back down at the paper he'd been writing- or rather: drawing - on.  He'd gone from analyzing the latest blood samples from his team to sketching one particular member of the team.  Their Heavy Weapons Specialist.

"UGH!"  He let his head and upper body flop onto the desk.  "I am never going to get anyzhing done."  He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Vhy is he so damned attractive?"

A dove landed in front of him, fluttering a bit before starting to preen.  The Medic sighed and sat back up, stacking everything and putting it away.  It was late anyway and sleep was starting to sound like a good idea.

Once the desk was clear, the blood samples stowed, and the doves bedded down for the night, he started for his bedroom.  He'd only walked four steps before a loud growling from his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning, a good 15 or so hours ago.  "Food first, zhen sleep."  He muttered, changing course for the mess hall.

There wasn't much in the way of pre-made meals in the mess hall, as he was the last one to come searching for food. He sighed and rummaged in the refrigerator, pulling out some sliced meat and cheese and some lettuce.  He grabbed two slices of bread from the bread box, thoroughly checking them for mold.  After the last incident with bread, he'd been extremely careful when eating it.  He sighed and sloppily made a sandwich before shoving the rest of the ingredients back in the refrigerator and heading back for his bedroom, eating his sandwich as he walked.

The corridors were thankfully empty.  He was tired of the knowing looks that everyone kept giving him.  Looks that said: "look at this poor old fool, he can't have what he wants"

He finished his sandwich quickly, but kept walking, not really paying attention to where he was going.

The Spy was the worst with the Look.  Every time Spy caught him staring or doodling, he'd give him that damned _sympathetic_ Look.  He didn't need sympathy.  He rubbed absently at his left forearm, the mark there prickling as the implications of his predicament surfaced.

"Doktor?"

"AH!" The Medic jumped about a foot in the air.  " _Gott im Himmel_. You startled me, _Herr_ Heavy."

"Did not mean to.  Are you okay?"

" _Ja_.  Vhy vouldn't I be?"

"Is late.  And you are outside my room."

The Medic blanched. "Vhat?"  He glanced around, and sure enough, just to his left was the Heavy's quarters. Which were in a completely different wing of the base. Which meant that he'd been wandering around again and _Gottverdammt_ he was being a complete idiot again.  "I am sorry.  I vas….distracted.  I'll leave you alone now."

"…Okay."

The Medic smiled and turned to leave, rubbing at his arm again.

"Doktor?"

The German stopped, wincing.  "Yes?"

"Is arm okay?"

"Hm?" He glanced down, realizing that he was now covering his left forearm, a subconscious attempt to hide the blistering mark even through his clothing.  "Uh, _ja_.  It'z just an…old injury.  Nozhing to vorry about." He forced a smile and a laugh.

Heavy arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.  "Very vell,  good night Doktor."

" _Gute Nacht, Herr_ Heavy."

The Heavy closed the door to his quarters, and the Medic relaxed for a moment before kicking himself.  _Idiot!  The last you need is everyone finding out about you! Damned freakish idiot!_

He sighed and left for his quarters,  his pace quickening the whole time, until he practically sprinted into the safety of his room, Spy's penchant for quiet be damned.  He shut the door and whirled around, leaning against it for a few moments, trying to steady his breathing. 

He slid down the door until his bottom hit the floor, and let his legs extend out in front of him.  He sat there and thought for a long time, memories from his past bubbling to the surface and combining with recent ones.

Following Heavy.  
Deploying the Uber on Heavy  
Taking a backstab for Heavy  
Running from the guards for Heavy… No.  He hadn't known Heavy then. 

He sighed and stood again, undressing quickly and slipping under the covers, refusing to look at his arm.  Instead he pictured Heavy.

Heavy standing next to him, strong and stable.  
Heavy walking with him.  
Heavy laughing at his jokes.  
Heavy shouting "I love this Doktor!"  
Heavy whispering in his ear: "I love you, Erik."

With that last thought, Medic gave up, allowing himself to pine hopelessly.  Heavy would never say such a thing. Especially not to him, a man, and a _German_.  Even though he was never one of the ones who committed those horrible acts. Even though he'd been on the receiving end of some of those acts.  
He stared at his ceiling, and as he drifted off, he admitted it.  He was hopelessly in love with their Heavy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went longer than I'd hoped. The word Twitterpated first originated in Walt Disney's Bambi as a lighthearted term for falling in love.......  
> Yeeaah, not exactly what I wrote. But anyway. I hope you enjoyed. Please note that German is not my first language, so if I screwed up on any of the German phrases, please forgive me.


	4. Infrangible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infrangible- unable to be broken or separated into parts

The robots were by no means unbreakable.  Hell, if you emptied enough bullets into them, then stopped working and dropped a pile of money on the ground.  But the sheer amount of the bots was beginning to overwhelm them.

The team sat in rec room of the base just outside Coaltown, completely silent.  They'd just barely pushed back the fifth horde of the day and everyone was exhausted.  Not even the Scout was talking, instead staring at his half empty soda can.

He'd been through Respawn more times than he could count.  Trying to gather all the money for everyone put him in the line of fire from most of the robots, and it showed. He was tired.  He was ready to call it quits and head back to Boston, to his family.

Soldier had a few decent runs, but trying to rocket-jump everywhere had drained his health and the Medic couldn't keep up with him, and he'd ended up in respawn more times than he'd been on the field.  He knew he'd made a mistake with his loadout and wasn't going to shove the blame on anyone else.

Pyro doodled on their napkin, drawing a storm cloud over top of a picture of their balloonicorn.  They'd tried their best, but they'd messed up when the Medic had given them an Uber from the Kritzkrieg.  They were very sorry, and had tried to make up for it by destroying some spy-bots, but they'd been backstabbed themselves before they could get to the Medic.  They were silent as they finished their picture and lit it on fire, watching the corner burn solemnly.

Demo really had tried to keep his sticky bombs well placed, but every time he was ready to deploy, he was overwhelmed.  So he tried sticking with the Engineer, only to be blown up by the sentry busters because his stickies weren't ready. He silently made plans to improve the arming and firing speed of the launcher.

Heavy didn't feel too bad, but the depressing atmosphere was impenetrable.  He and the Medic had worked well together, taking down huge chunks of the horde as it came up, but spy-bots were their worst nightmare.  The Medic had fallen several times to them and the Heavy would have to retreat.

Engineer had done his best.  But the sentry busters seemed to be endless.  Every time he'd set up after being blown to bits by one, another one would take its place, and he'd be back in Respawn.  Demo, bless him, did try to help, but the sentry busters were just too fast, running past his sticky traps before he could detonate them.

Medic's silence wasn't as solemn as the rest.  He'd done everything he could on the field, but there was only one of him to go around.  He was working on new plans for a device that would assist him in keeping people on the field longer.  A sort of mini-Respawn.  He'd need the Engineer's input later on, but he'd wait until the Texan was in a better mood to ask. 

Sniper had an awful count that day.  The robots' shaking made it damn near impossible to get a decent headshot, and the few times that they were still enough to get one, he'd be backstabbed by a spy-bot, because he'd have been too focused on the shot.  And he thought the Blu Spy had been bad…

Spy felt the most useless.  The robots were relatively keen on figuring out where he was, whether he was cloaked or disguised.  And of course, there wasn't anything he could do in the way of effective spying.  Oh, sure, if he was lucky he could disable the engineer-bots and their gear, but only if he managed to maneuver through the ever present horde of other robots.  And all you had to do anyway was shoot at them until they stopped moving.

"Attention:  The robots are back; prepare to fight and defend Mann Co.!"

No one, except the Heavy and the Medic moved.

"You heard Administrator!  Let us go fight metal men."

"No one wants to, big guy." Scout mumbled.

"Zis is turning into a war of attrition.  We cannot keep doing zis forever." Spy added, fatigue all too present in his voice.

Medic got a good look at all of his teammates.  All of them had dark circles under their eyes, and nearly all of their shoulders slumped down.  "Ve vill do better zhis time.  Ve are capable of learning from our miztakes.  Unlike zhe robots."

" _Da_.  Ve survived this long.  Vill continue to."

"Survivin' isn't the same as winnin', mate." Sniper spat.

"Then ve vin."

"We ain't gonna win just 'cause we say it.  We gotta actually push them back.  And we're barely keepin' 'em at bay as it is." Engineer said, pushing his goggles up to rub his eyes.

" _VERDAMMT_!  You VILL get up and fight. Vhere is your bloodlust?!  I know you have it, because I have seen it."

"Back on the field, mate.  Blasted into a thousand tiny pieces."  Demo muttered.

Medic sighed.  "One more vave.   Zhen we will have emptied zhe carrier tank."

" _Da_.  Ve can do that much."

"We can't!" Scout shouted, standing up and knocking over his soda.  "Don't you get it!  We're _losing_! Spy's right: we can't keep this up!"

"Not alone."  A feminine voice sounded from the doorway.

"Miss Pauling!"

"Hey guys.  Look, I know you're all exhausted, but we have to keep fighting."

"You mean WE have to keep fighting." Soldier growled.

"Well…yes." She swallowed.  "But I think I know why it was going so badly for you."

"Oh, do tell, _mademoiselle_." Spy didn't bother to hide the sarcasm and exhaustion.  They all knew why they were losing.

"You're not communicating. You're all trying to do your own thing with no regard to what the rest of you are doing."

Everyone paused, realizing that it was indeed true. They practically never spoke to each other, except to say who'd died, call for the Medic, or identify a spy.

"You all have radios, use them."  Miss Pauling took one last look at her exhausted team.  "Come on, let's go."

They stood and trudged back to the Respawn.  
\---

"WOO!!!  TAKE THAT METAL BUTT!" Scout picked up the last of the money as Spy decloaked next to him.  "We did it!"

The carrier tank started it's retreat and everyone cheered as the Administrator congratulated them over the loudspeaker. 

Miss Pauling smiled at the teams celebrations from over the Administrator's shoulder.  This was the team she knew. 

A team that had many strengths, and recognized its weaknesses, and worked around them.   
A team that could learn from its mistakes.  
A team that could adapt to whatever was thrown at it.

A team that, when they worked together, was unbreakable.


	5. Ailment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD LORD IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE! I got horribly, horribly sick and was in bed for two days, then I had two 12-hour shifts at work, so I was exhausted and didn't have time to write anything. Although the irony of today's word and my predicament is not lost on me.
> 
> Ailment- an illness, typically a minor one.

Spy didn't get sick.  Well, he rarely got sick, and during his time in Teufort, Respawn and the Medigun had prevented him from getting sick.  It was something he prided himself on.  
But he and Sniper were now on vacation together, in Australia, and he'd caught some nasty bug. His head throbbed, and nearly all of his major joints ached for no apparent reason.  He couldn't breathe through his nose, and every time he coughed, a horribly rough hacking cough, his chest and throat hurt.  And he was certain he'd developed a fever. He lay snuggled up under a mound of blankets in the bed he and Sniper normally shared, the left half of his face pressed into a pillow, trying not to cough.

He failed miserably, his body curling in on itself as his lungs spasmed.  He moaned and a hand flew to his neck, trying to rub away the soreness from his throat. 

The bed dipped unexpectedly and the sickly Spy cracked open one eyelid.  "Lawrence." He croaked out, offering a small smile to the taller man who'd joined him.

"Feelin' any better?"

Spy shook his head, not wanting to speak.

Sniper pressed his hand to the other man's forehead, cheek, and neck in turn.  Spy nuzzled his hand halfheartedly, enjoying the soft touch of his lover.  "Still warm." He muttered absentmindedly.  "You're sure you don't want me to call the doc?"

" _Non_." His voice was scratchy and soft.  "No doctors.  Contract."  He desperately avoided long sentences, his throat had been through enough.

"Not even Medic?"

Spy arched an eyebrow and shook his head.

Sniper sighed.  "Feel up to eatin' some soup?  Mum made it.  I imagine it'll feel real nice on your throat."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah.  I was diggin' through the medicine cabinet last night lookin' for some Tylenol for you.  Oh."  He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of said medicine and placed it on the nightstand, next to an untouched glass of water. "Anyway, she thought I was sick or hurt an' I had to 'splain it was you who was sick, not me. She made some soup for you to have today."

Spy grunted and sat up, pressing his palms to his eyes when his headache flared at the movement.  He heard the Sniper rustling as he waited to the pain to die down enough to where he could open his eyes. When he did, the Sniper had the glass of water and two of the painkillers held out in front of him.  Spy took them and swallowed quickly, wincing as it aggravated his raw throat. 

Sniper stood, offering his hand to his lover.  "C'mon. Hot soup, remember?"

Spy grunted, allowing the Sniper to help him stand.  They moved to the kitchen, Spy leaning heavily on the younger Australian.  Sniper sat him down at the table and pushed a steaming mug in front of him.  He set a spoon down on the table beside the mug and smiled.  "Eat up."

Spy smiled gently and brought a spoonful of the broth to his mouth, sighing happily as it slid down his abused throat and warmed his belly.  Within ten minutes the rest of the broth was gone, and he'd drained two glasses of water.  He noted that the headache and dulled some, so he stood and took the mug and spoon to the sink.

"Oi!  I woulda done that!"  
Spy shook his head and joined Sniper on the couch.  "Where are your parents?"  He croaked out.

"They're gone for the day.  Dad had somethin' to do in town."

"Good."  Spy mumbled, stretching out on the couch and resting his head on the Sniper's thigh.

Sniper smiled and rested his hand on the Spy's shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles.  "Feel a bit better?"

"Mhm."

"Wanna watch some TV?  Can't guarantee anythin' good is on, but…"

" _Oui_."

Sniper grabbed the remote and clicked through the few channels he had access to, finally settling on one when Spy grunted for him to stop.  He leaned back and started rubbing the Spy's shoulder again.

Spy sighed happily, nuzzling Sniper's thigh as he felt his eyelids start to droop.  "Mm.  _Merci.  Je t'aime_." He mumbled, just as he fell asleep.

"Love you too, Spook."


	6. Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lonely: sad because one has no friends or company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I AM HORRIBLE AT UPDATING! I am so sorry it has been ridiculously long since i have updated this. "Word of the Day" turned into more of a "Word of whenever the hell i actually have time to write", which in between working and going to school full time, isn't very often. But this piece isn't abandoned or orphaned or whatever, I just don't have a lot of time. So without further ado:

Scout sighed heavily, rolling over and grabbing for the picture of his family that he kept on his nightstand.  "Good luck, we love you!" His mother's delicate handwriting inscribed on the bottom. He read it over a few times, his mind wandering back to before he'd joined BLU.  They'd taken that photo the evening before he'd left.  His brothers had gathered around him, three on either side of his mother, who stood in the middle, behind him with her hand on his shoulders.  All had genuine smiles on their faces.  They hadn't known just what his contract entailed.  He'd called his mother several times since he'd arrived at Teufort, always when no one was watching or listening.  It was easy to deal with the loneliness then.

But then he'd been transferred to RED, along with the BLU Soldier and Engineer.  He'd been unable to call since then.  Every time he went to try, the Sniper or Demoman would be on the phone.  He'd sent a few letters, hadn't gotten a response.  Writing had never been his thing anyway.  Well, that and he was pretty sure the Spy was reading everyone's mail.

  
Raucous laughter from the next room over reminded him of just how lonely he was.  Out of all his teammates, old and new, he was the only one without a close friend.  Soldier and Demo had rekindled their friendship now that they were on the same side.  Pyro and Engineer were really close, as were the Sniper and Spy.  And the Heavy and Medic were joined at the hip, in more ways than one.  He was the odd man out.

  
Oh, he covered it well.  In front of the others, he was the cocky, young, rambunctious boy who was relatively friendly with everyone.  Except maybe Spy.  But deep down, he was alone here.

He put the photo back and hauled himself out of bed.  He needed to do something, laying there pinning wasn't going to do him any good.

He wandered the base, checking Engie's lab and the practice room, before heading to the, surprisingly empty, rec room.  He lingered in the doorway for only a moment before heaving a sigh and plopping down on one of the couches.  He grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels, finally settling on a soap opera.  He watched idly for an hour before his eyelids began to droop.  He was asleep before he knew what happened.

  
~~~~~~

  
Spy walked silently through the halls as he normally did for his midnight smoke.  As he passed the rec room, he noticed that a light was still on.  "Idiots."  He huffed, entering and moving to turn off the TV.  He clicked off the desk lamp that had been left on and turned around, stopping dead in his tracks.  Scout was slumped on the couch, fast asleep.  The boy was still sitting mostly upright, but his head was bent so his chin was touching his chest. 

"Scout?"  Spy spoke, keeping his voice at a moderate level.

No response.

"Scout, can you hear me?"

The boy didn't so much as twitch at Spy's voice.  Spy sighed and stepped over to him.  "Oh, _lapin_."  He muttered, shaking his head.  He slid the TV remote from under Scout's left hand and laid it on the coffee table.  With slow, gentle movements, he readjusted Scout so that he was lying on the couch in a far more comfortable position.  As Spy lifted the boy's legs onto the couch, Scout shifted a little.  Spy froze, mind racing as to what he would say if the boy woke up.  But Scout never did. He shifted and turned his head, but made no other moves.  Spy exhaled softly, relief flooding his chest.  He didn't want to explain himself.  He gently set the runner's legs down on the couch before moving to a nearby cabinet and pulling it open.  He silently thanked the Engineer for insisting that there be a blanket for the couch, mostly because Demo would pass out on it half the time.  He took the woolen blanket and unfolded it, inspecting it briefly.  After assuring himself that it was clean, he laid it over the sleeping Scout.  The boy's only response was to grab it and tuck it under his chin.

Spy smiled and moved quietly to the door.  " _Bonne nuit, mon fils.  Dormez bien_." He closed the door silently and headed for his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French transaltions:   
>  lapin: bunny  
>  Bonne nuit, mon fils. Dormez bien. : Good night, my son. Sleep well.
> 
> Again I apologize for the horribly long update interval. Hope you enjoyed this little piece.  
> Also yes, I am a sucker for the "Blu Scout is Red Spy's son" dynamic. (Although he's not really BLU anymore in this universe.)


	7. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare: a frightening or unpleasant dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please forgive the HORRIBLY LONG update interval. School+work+homework=very little time to write.
> 
> Also this chapter contains a lot of backstory on my RED Medic OC, Erik Hoffmann. It contains references to Nazi prison camps. which may make some readers uncomfortable. Please take that into consideration before you read any further.
> 
> I didn't type out the accents in this one. Please tell me if you prefer if I continue to type them out, or leave all accents implied.

" _NIEN!!_ "  Erik jolted upright, eyes wide and breathing ragged.  His eyes flitted around the room, slowly taking in his surroundings. The door, the dresser, the desk, the mounds of paper on the desk, Archimedes sleeping on said paper.  He let out a shaky breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead.   He was in his quarters near the Sawmill, not the work house of the camp.  He was safe.

"Erik?" Misha mumbled, cracking open an eye. "Are you okay?"

" _J-Ja_." The Medic swallowed.  " _Ja_ , I'm fine.  It was just a nightmare."

"More memories?"  Misha sat up, holding his arm out in an invitation to Erik.

The German sighed and nodded mutely, leaning into Misha's embrace and taking comfort in the warmth of the Russian.  "They are becoming more frequent. More intense…" He muttered, pressing his cheek into Misha's chest.

"Will get better though, _da_?"

"Eventually."

Misha's frowned. "There is nothing I can do to help?  I don't like seeing you like this."

Erik shook his head.  "All I can do is deal with them as they come."

Misha hummed thoughtfully. "It may be different with you, but when I had nightmares back home, talking with someone I trust did help."

Erik swallowed again.  "It's…hard, Misha.  I don't think…"

"Do not have to talk now. Can wait til you are feeling better.  And do not have to talk to me."

Erik scoffed. " _Und_ who would you suggest I talk to. _Herr_ Spy?  No I would want to talk to you, and…. I…I think I want to get it over with. But if you are tired…"

" _Nyet_ , I am always here for you." He rubbed Erik's shoulder as he pulled away. "Take your time. Start slow, _da_?"

Erik chuckled drily. "There isn't really a way to start slow." He took a deep breath.  "You know that I was incarcerated in a Nazi prison camp." He started, forcing himself to keep his arm in plain view.

" _Da_ , you told me."

"It was a memory from then. The guards were…" He swallowed, images flashing through his brain. "They were going to beat me. I-I don't remember for what. There may not have been a reason. I was running, trying to get away, but there were faster than I was. I normally wake up here, but…I-" He forced himself breathe slowly.  "I have to get it all out."

Misha nodded, remaining silent, allowing Erik to regain his composure.

"They caught me and tied me to a post and just….went for it. I don't remember how long it took for them to stop. I was only half conscious. I could handle the physical beating. It had happened enough to where it was starting to become routine. But it wasn't enough for them. They had to degrade me. They told me that my children were dead, that I had killed them because I was a homosexual. That they had to die in order to ensure the purity of the race.  Told me that I deserved everything that they did to me." He stopped as Misha cupped his face, letting himself nuzzle the Russian's hand. He glanced at the number tattooed on his arm. "They told me that all I would ever be was this number. That I was unworthy of my name. And for a time, I believed them. It took another inmate to help me remember that I was human, to regain hope."  He sighed. "I never found out what happened to him. After the Americans freed us, we parted ways and never saw each other again. When I came here and joined RED, Fraülien Pauling found my children for me.  They are alright.  My son is a musician and my daughter is training to be a nurse. They're both happy and healthy. Apparently my ex-wife cared enough to flee to America after I was incarcerated."  He stopped, once again staring at his arm.

Misha noticed and reached out, covering the tattoo with one hand and turning Erik's head towards him with the other.  "Number does not define you. You are Erik. You are not wrong. You are not unworthy. You are so much more than a number."  He cupped Erik's face and kissed him softly. Erik melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the other man. Misha broke the kiss after a while, choosing instead to nuzzle Erik's jaw and neck. "Let me show you." He mumbled, pulling his lover on top of him as he laid down again, peppering kisses over Erik's jaw.

 

~~~

"Oh, M-Misha…." Erik stuttered, his body shuddering for the aftershocks of their lovemaking.

Misha pulled the other man close, smiling happily.  "Feeling better?"

" _Ja_ , a bit."  Erik slurred through a yawn.

Misha chuckled. "Sleep now.  Dream only of me, nothing else, _da_?"

"Ja, only you…" He mumbled, burying his face in Misha's chest.  "Only you…"

Misha smiled, content, as sleep claimed both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love you forever if you left a comment.

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles are un-betaed. If you see a mistake, please forgive me.
> 
> Details about this personal challenge can be found here: http://simpleenthusiast.tumblr.com/post/125850303344/drabble-exercise


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